


Another Night

by kenthel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Living Together, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 05:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11284749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenthel/pseuds/kenthel
Summary: Kenma and Kuroo live, cook, shower, and sleep together. That's it, really.





	Another Night

**Author's Note:**

> a lot of times with pairings there's a "neat" character and a "messy" one. one who cooks and one who can't cook to save their life, etc. 
> 
> when it comes to Kenma and Kuroo, I'm like nah
> 
> so yeah, here you go

Crumbs on the tile floor stick to the bottoms of Kenma’s bare feet. The kitchen is small and Kuroo has to duck under the stove vent to look into a pot of simmering goop. The recipe is a crumpled ball of paper in the combustibles bin under the sink. 

Kenma’s resting his face in the middle of Kuroo’s bare sweaty back. He wears an oversized undershirt and sweatpants that cling around his skinny ankles. He caresses the knuckles of Kuroo’s spine and watches the goose flesh break out on his arms. Kenma presses puckered lips between the slouching shoulders just lightly enough to feel the shiver chase past them.

Kuroo stands over the pot, but he's stopped stirring. He pretends to be transfixed with the rumbling stew. He's suddenly conscious of the stink of his feet still confined in their calf-high argyle socks. He works all day on his feet. Of course they’ll be offensive by the end of the day, he reasons as he taps his wooden spoon with a fingernail.

“Maybe shower after dinner?” Kenma asks. He slides his hands into the tight back pockets of Kuroo’s slacks and gently squeezes his ass. 

“Hey, that's mine,” Kuroo says with every part of him entirely too focused on the breath chuckled against his skin.

“No.” Kenma digs with his nails through the pocket and cheap boxers. “It's mine.”

He drops the spoon and it silently sinks into the stew. With his hands steadying him to the counter, he pushes back against Kenma’s touch. “Okay, it's yours.”

“Are we going to shower?” Kenma repeats. Even without a mirror, he is all too aware of the oily shine on his forehead and the added weight of his greasy, knotted hair. He let himself use a face wipe and dry shampoo that morning, but the effects have long since worn off. 

“We really should.”

Like its occupants, the apartment was in need of washing. The week sped by without a dish done, a floor swept, a trash bag taken out, or a single article of clothing removed from their emergency rainy day indoors clothesline. Every pair of shoes the two of them owns is piled on the genkan. Both of the bags they take to work sit dumped on the washing machine. 

But that’s tomorrow’s project.

Kenma clears the convenience store bag and assorted snack wrappers off their personal-sized folding table and tucks the mess under the sink. He checks the small refrigerator with a frown and pulls an opened liter carton of apple juice from the shelf. Their only glass is in the sink with a pesky blue-white milk residue dried up on the bottom. Kenma leaves the carton on the table with a shrug.

The rice cooker on the floor quietly beeps the tune to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and the light besides “Cook” flickers out. The song is shy, almost modest, for the battered titan of a rice cooker that dwarfs the drip coffee maker hiding in its shadow. Inside, the rice is brown and crisp along the edges. Two scoops into the center and the rice is moist and mushy.

“Smells like failure,” Kenma mumbles to himself as he ladled the best looking bits into what will be Kuroo’s bowl. 

Kuroo fishes out his sunken spoon with a pair of battle-scarred chopsticks, takes a curious taste that only scalds the tip of his tongue, and rinses it off. He turns off the burner. He stares at the stew for a long moment while chewing the inside of his cheek. He pours a dash of salt into his palm and adds it to the stew without a second thought. He stirs until the crystals disappear and declares it finished.

They eat at their folding table without enthusiasm. There’s a computer playing something or another on YouTube, but the ancient laptop’s speakers crackle and fluctuate erratically. 

“It’s not bad,” Kenma offers after his third bite. All he can taste is the burned rice. He takes a drink from the apple juice carton and hands it over.

Kuroo takes it and washes away the remnants of the dead sea gathered under his tongue. He curses whatever trickster god guided his humbled hand towards the salt. He wipes his mouth and replies, “We should add it to the recipe book.” 

Feeling full and unsatisfied, Kenma sets down his bowl. “Maybe noodles instead of rice.”

“I like the rice.” Kuroo’s finished too. He frowns at the vat of what now are leftovers. He thinks that the fridge is empty enough to just put the whole pot in there when it cools off. He frowns harder at the dishes piled over the brim of the sink.

“All I want to do is sleep,” Kenma says, dropping his head against Kuroo’s arm.

A small battle wages on between his desires to be clean and to be asleep. Kuroo tries not to think about how disgustingly moist the cotton of his underwear is between his thighs and how the neighbors will probably be able to smell his balls when he takes off his pants. “What about showers?”

Kenma sighs. “Yeah.”

They shuffle over to the shower. Kenma leans up to kiss Kuroo and relives the salt of their dinner on his chapped, peeling lips. He pulls away with a tug on Kuroo’s lower lip and raises his arms expectantly.

“You’re scruffy,” Kuroo mentions, lifting the dirty shirt off of Kenma and leaving it on the floor. He runs his hands down Kenma’s sides and tugs down both underwear and sweatpants. The tiles are hard on his knees as he presses dry kisses across Kenma’s skinny, hairy thighs. 

“We need new razors,” Kenma replies. His hands card through Kuroo’s messy hair. He goes over the grocery list in his head, tries to think of combinations to create meals with, and nothing in particular sounds appealing. “Do you want to go in first?” 

Kuroo looks down at the floor as he stands. “Yeah, sorry.”

“I don’t care,” Kenma says. He turns around to let Kuroo undress and tries to put his hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t have any. He steps out of the clothes on his feet and considers putting on the air conditioner.

It takes less than three seconds to undo his belt and kick off his slacks and socks. He spares the back of Kenma’s head a self-conscious glance as he turns his back on him to step up into the shower room. He closes the frosted folding door behind him and sighs at himself.

The water runs hot immediately as it spurts from the cheap showerhead. Steam steadily and efficiently fills the room with its humidity and sticky heat. On the floor, in the corner, is an assortment of bagged shampoos, conditioners, and body washes of varying quality. In the sink, there is one toothbrush with an unpleasantly nicotine yellow handle and a small, half-rolled tube of toothpaste.

Kuroo starts with a promising pouch of stuff with enough weight to have something in it and squints at the tiny identifying characters. Conditioner. He tries another, gets shampoo, and decides that it’s good enough. He wonders if he should finally follow through on getting those reading glasses, but reasons that buying color coded shower dispensers would be more useful in this situation. He’s not going to get either anytime soon.

He finds the old loofah in the tub and squeezes a decent blob of shampoo into its folds. Kuroo goes about thoroughly scrubbing his neck, chest, and shoulders red and tender. He then lathers up his hands and washes his ass. He waits after he's rinsed for long minutes, letting the water massage his lower back. 

“Okay, Kenma!” he calls. “You can come in!”

Kenma’s shadow hovers on the other side of the door. The vent turns on with a staggering breath. He slides open the door. 

There's something attractive about Kenma that Kuroo can never ignore. Maybe it's the freckles on his forearms or the all-seeing glint in his eyes.

Kenma turns to close the door and Kuroo lets out a low whistle almost drowned by the shower. 

“Wow, Kenma’s butt.”

“You see it every day.” Kenma takes Kuroo’s hand as he hikes his leg over into the tub.

“I didn't see it last Tuesday when you got out late from work,” Kuroo corrects. He hugs Kenma and slowly steps the two of then around in a circle until Kenma’s back is in the spray. 

Kenma hums, tracing along an angry red patch of skin on Kuroo’s shoulder with his fingertips. The red makes the thin white scar caused by Kuroo falling off a ladder cleaning his parents’ gutters more clearly defined. 

In only minutes, Kenma’s head starts to spin and his breathing becomes irregular. He reaches over to the sink and twists the cold knob until the spray is lukewarm. He washes. Kenma’s eyes are closed as he lathers his hair vigorously with shampoo and foam drips down his face. 

Kuroo leans back against the cool shower wall. “Careful, you have soap on your face.”

“Oh.” Kenma turns to rinse his hair with his face facing the showerhead. Water gets up his nose and he sputters. He lowers his face towards the drain and lets the water pour onto the back of his head instead. He receives two gentle pats on the back from Kuroo.

“Soapy massage?” Kuroo offers as he reaches for the shampoo.

Kenma nods. He plugs his nose with his fingers and braves the spray again to clear the soap from his face. Strong thumbs push into Kenma’s back on either side of his spine and begin moving in small circles. Kenma gasps and gets a swallow of shower water for his trouble. He rests his palms on the wall to support himself.

“Right here?” Kuroo asks while sliding his slick thumb along the inside of Kenma’s shoulder blade. He feels the tightness in the muscles there before kneading in his fingertips. Years of poor posture, lack of targeted exercise or stretching, and a sedentary job can’t be undone in one sloppy ten-minute massage. 

“Feels good. You can do it harder,” Kenma instructs.

Kuroo does. He goes until his hands tire and the back of his head dries from Kenma’s unwillingness to share the water. There’s a thought about how the time he needs to wake up is approaching faster than it has the right to. His worries chatter in the back of his head and try to detract from the way Kenma leans into his chest with a content sigh. 

“There’s something bothering you?” Kenma asks. He’s using his own stubbly chin to itch at a spot on his upper arm. He can’t keep fingernails for even a millimeter before he’s clipping, filing, or nibbling them away, so the not-quite-beard will have to do. There’s a definition of professionalism that Kenma would never quite see eye-to-eye with and scruff fits into no facet of that ideal. Somehow, he’s gained a reputation of unfriendliness and finds himself in sneezing fits when his coworkers go out for drinks without him. He picks up the dull razor with a frown and convinces himself it’s to not give the office more to gossip about.

“Just work, you know,” Kuroo answers. “Let me shave you.”

Kenma lightly, but swiftly, elbows Kuroo in the gut. “You think I trust you that much?”

“Yes.”

Kenma feels for the end of his sideburn and swipes down the razor to clear his cheek. His hairs snag in the razor instead of being cut smoothly. He finishes one cheek, runs one hand up the base of his throat to find the scruff-line, and shaves upward with the razor. He knicks an inflamed pimple and draws in a sharp hiss of pain.

“Blood?” Kenma asks, raising his chin for Kuroo to check.

“A bit,” he replies. “Give it here. I promise not to cut you.” 

Kenma hands over the razor and watches Kuroo’s actions through the reflection on his eyeballs. He adds, as an afterthought, “Suppose we should add ‘not cutting each other’ to the prenup.”

Kuroo focuses on gently shaving away the sparse, prickly moustache that’s been threatening to give him a second degree stubble burn lately. “Sounds good.”

It’s quiet with the water turned off. A blast of cool air rushes in through the shower door when it’s opened. Kuroo forgets to reach for the towels in a rush of self-preservation and quickly closes the door again with a frown and a shiver. He wisens up, cracks the door enough for his arm, and grabs the towels.

Kuroo pats his face dry and rubs the towel back and forth over his hair. Satisfied that his bangs won’t drip on his face, he loosely wraps the towel around his waist and steps out of the shower. Their side-by-side futons are still laid out from the night before, but of all the mess Kuroo is able to live with, climbing into a cold, unmade bed is where he draws the line. 

When Kenma leaves the shower room, he’s dressed in the loose pajamas and a hooded sweater he’d prepared. He finger-combs the knots out of his hair as he carefully steps across the apartment to his futon. His futon is beside the outlet where his phone is charging. He lies down curled on his side and pulls his phone up to his face. He runs through a compulsive series of email, preferred social media, and alarm checks before he leaves his phone facedown on the carpet. The light’s still on, but he doesn’t want to get up.

“Kenma,” Kuroo says. He scoots over onto Kenma’s futon and wraps an arm around his middle. 

Kenma self-consciously pulls Kuroo’s hand off his soft stomach and laces their fingers together. “Hm?”

Kuroo shifts up on one elbow, attempts to push away the hairs clinging to Kenma’s neck with his nose, and presses small kisses to the skin there. He squeezes Kenma’s hand and waits to be squeezed in return before taking Kenma’s earlobe gently between his teeth.

Breath fills Kenma’s ears, a feeling he generally finds revolting, but allows it. He turns over onto his back and accepts kisses along his jawline, across his cheeks, and on the corner of his mouth. He wiggles out the arm trapped between their bodies and brings his hand to cup Kuroo’s face and guide him into a soft kiss. Kenma lets the kiss linger, languidly breathing through his nose.

After the kiss breaks, Kuroo swings one knee around to straddle Kenma. His towel comes untucked and sags off of his waist. He rubs himself against Kenma’s clothed stomach just once and bites his lower lip. He says, “Kenma.”

“Yeah?” Kenma watches Kuroo lean forward on his hands until their faces are level. Kenma softly touches along the outside of Kuroo’s strong arms and over his shoulders. He counts the ribs on his way down Kuroo’s sides. He holds Kuroo with his thumbs resting between pelvic bone and thigh and his fingers curling around his hips. One press of his thumbs and Kuroo gasps in Kenma’s face and ruts against his sweater again.

Kuroo buries his face in the blankets besides Kenma’s head. He mutters, “I’m horny.”

“I know.”

“Is that all I get?”

“Mm.” Kenma considers. He’s liking the weight of Kuroo on top of him and the wetness still clinging to his thighs and back. The potential to have to take yet another shower takes some of the fun out of it - even dressing and redressing is a pain. He knows that he doesn’t have to do anything and that Kuroo would be content with getting to kiss Kenma while he jerks himself off.

“It’s okay, you know, either way,” Kuroo says, leaving his hiding spot to meet Kenma’s eye. “Just figured I’d let you know.”

There’s a long pause as Kenma does some mental calculations and recollections of the . . . supplies . . . they have in the apartment. He waits until Kuroo sits up and adjusts his towel to partially conceal his erection. “Do you want to have sex?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo answers quickly with an immediate shame at his overeagerness. “I’ll . . .get the stuff?”

“Okay, I’ll be here.” 

Kuroo gets up and goes back into the kitchen. There’s a distinct lack of cabinets or drawers or dressers or anything in their apartment. He opens the door to the cabinet under the sink that doesn’t lead directly to the bin and takes out the inconspicuous brown paper bag and the “couldn’t hide it if you tried” liter sized container of water-based lubricant. 

With his hooded sweater pulled off, Kenma shimmies out of his pajama pants and boxers. He gives the clothes a half-assed folding and places them on the side. He then takes Kuroo’s somewhat damp towel and lays it down over the futon’s comforter. 

“Hey,” Kuroo starts, lingering near the entrance to their apartment, “do you mind if I turn off the light?”

Kenma shakes his head. “Go ahead.” 

The darkness is neither invasive nor concealing. There is a well-frosted skylight above their futons the lets in the meager moonlight and the ever-present glow of Tokyo. Kuroo treads lightly. His footsteps feel heavier while naked.

Kenma waits cross-legged with his chin resting on his hands.

“I uh-” Kuroo doesn’t like to describe sex-acts in direct terms. “-need to get ready.”

“Need help?” 

“Probably not.” Kuroo taps Kenma with the bag. “Move over?”

Kenma shifts off the towel as Kuroo lays back. He takes a pillow from the head of the futon and tucks it under Kuroo’s head. “Do you want another pillow?”

“I don’t think so,” Kuroo replies. He pumps lubricant into his hand and thoroughly coats each of his fingers. The lubricant feels cool as he coaxes a finger gently inside himself. One finger becomes two. He pauses to add more lube and returns to his practice. 

Kenma watches and feels a growing interest in Kuroo’s actions. With one hand, he strokes Kuroo’s dick and tries to match the speed of the working fingers. It only takes a moment of consideration before he’s leaning forward to take Kuroo into his mouth. Even after a shower, there’s a lingering smell of distinctly Kuroo clinging to his pubic hair. Kenma slides his tongue against the head and along the shaft as he moves. His lips are pulled in tightly over his front teeth as he grip becomes slicker the more he allows himself to drool.

Kuroo swallows a moan and the pace of his fingering falters with the addition of a third finger. His forearm grows tired and burns from the effort, but he barely registers the complaint over Kenma’s teasing. The small voice he learned to use as a sneaky teenager escapes him. “Wait, Kenma.”

“Something you want?”

“Come up here,” Kuroo instructs. He lets himself rest and uses his free hand to pull Kenma closer.

Kenma holds onto Kuroo’s hair and lets out a long exhale of relief as Kuroo eagerly tongues the head of his dick. He thrusts gently and lets Kuroo decide the pace and how much he’s willing to take. A drip of sweat escapes his armpit and climbs down his side. The backs of his knees are damp. He tries not to think about how wet he’s going to be at the end of this.

Kuroo lets his head fall back onto the pillow and catches his breath. His saliva drips down his chin. “Okay, I think I’m ready. Can you . .?”

Already reaching for the condom bag, Kenma nods. He acts quickly, taking a square off its strip and tearing it at the corner. He double checks which end is the inside and adds a pump of extra lubricant before sliding it on. He sits back on his heels. “Which way do you want to start? Do you want to stay like that?”

“No.” Kuroo sits up and moves over. “You lay here.” 

“Okay.”

Kuroo’s filling his hand with lube again, this time thoroughly coating the condom. With another pump, he runs his slick fingers along his entrance and gets himself into position. Kenma’s hands are massaging his thighs and running thumbs along his adductors. He lines up the head with his entrance and squints his eyes shut as he lowers himself down. He takes only an inch and he waits, feeling out the stretch. There’s no sensation of wrinkles on the condom or dryness. He knows he could slide right down to the base if he wanted.

“Kuro?” Kenma says. He reaches one arm up and runs his hand down Kuroo’s stomach muscles.

“Are you ready?” Kuroo asks. He pushes down a bit more and Kenma naturally bucks once, hips trying to push deeper. He takes his dry hand and places it over the one Kenma is resting on his thigh.

Kenma gives a small nod. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

What starts slow never becomes too fast nor too rough. Kuroo has his eyes closed again and rides with a steady rhythm even as he has to remember to breathe. He knows Kenma is so, so close to him and still wants him closer. He squeezes the hand trapped under his. He tightens his grip on his dick next as he jerks himself faster to bring himself back to the brink of pleasure. 

Kenma can’t watch anymore. It’s too much. He can’t not hear how Kuroo holds his breath with only occasionally sharp inhales and exhales. He can’t ignore Kuroo intentionally clenching around him on his way down or the groans Kuroo bites back as he adjusts their angle. It’s never taken him so much effort to do so little. To stop himself from thrusting up into Kuroo. To not look as Kuroo leaks precum over his working fist and lets it drip onto Kenma. To not let himself dig his fingernails into Kuroo’s thighs until he draws blood. 

When Kuroo finds himself unwilling to shy from his next brush with orgasm, he leans forward and seeks Kenma’s mouth. Their kisses are wet and sloppy and out of sync. Kuroo knows it’s coming now and breaks the kiss to suck a hickey on Kenma’s collarbone. His breath comes ragged around the teeth abusing Kenma’s skin and Kuroo is rewarded with a break of resolve.

Kenma’s hands clamp on Kuroo’s hips and bring him down with a wet slap of skin on skin. He moves quickly and indistinctly, needing more. In seconds, Kenma lets out a groan. He holds Kuroo down and pushes as deeply inside as he can go as he fills the condom. His head falls back onto the pillow and he barely registers the warm come sticking to his stomach. His bangs are drenched with sweat.

Kuroo allows as long as it takes for his dick to stop twitching before he slides off of Kenma. He gives him a quick peck on the cheek before climbing to his feet. He trips over the table on his way to the bathroom and lets out a curse. He notices his legs tremble when he bends to retrieve the toilet paper from the floor. When he returns, he notes that Kenma has not yet moved. 

He places the roll of toilet paper beside Kenma and says, “I’m gonna rinse.”

Kenma hums a brief affirmation and eases off the condom. He wraps the mess in the toilet paper and uses the rest to wipe Kuroo’s half-dried, sticky come off of his stomach. The shower’s already running when he’s mustered the energy to tuck the paper into the trash. He takes the towel and leaves it outside the shower for Kuroo. 

Kuroo steps out of the shower room for the second time and hears Kenma lightly snoring in his futon. He curls up alongside him, places a kiss into his hair, and smiles as he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading


End file.
